


Life Is But A Gift

by TinkerBella



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 01:48:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3363251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinkerBella/pseuds/TinkerBella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a request fic for DebbieF who writes the most amazing D'Artagnan whump.   It took me a while to finish, becuz real life is nuts.  But I hope you like it sweets.   </p>
<p>Bascially we're talking D'Artagnan whump with a bunch of H/C and Athos angst and all those good things rolled into one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Is But A Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DebbieF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/gifts).



It had been an easy mission for once.

They had caught a wanted criminal named Jaffe and the King had decreed that he be returned to his township to stand trial. Treville had sent Athos and D'Artagnan to escort Jaffe to Pierpont, since Aramis and Porthos were needed elsewhere on King's business.

Two days out to Pierpont, a few hours to drop Jaffe off and accept a meal and a rest period, now they were half way through the first day back to Paris.

They were actually ahead of schedule and the weather was turning dark and damp, so Athos suggested they stop for the night at a nearby Tavern. They were served a hearty meal of mutton stew and crusty bread and the wine was surprisingly good. Good enough that Athos ordered two bottles, one and a half of which he finished off on his own.

 

By which time the skies had opened and rain poured down, soaking the night air. It gave Athos the perfect excuse for them to stay the night, to which D'Artagnan gave no argument. He was concerned at the way Athos was drinking. Sure they were not on King's business at the moment, but it wasn't like his mentor to drink himself into a stupor until they were back home and of late, he had been drinking much less. 

 

So D'Artagnan called him on it, even as he moved to pry the wine bottle from Athos' hand so he could bring him to bed. But in that moment another patron, bigger than Athos and drunker, bumped into him, spilling his wine onto Athos' jerkin. 

 

With a snarl Athos shoved D'Artagnan aside and drew his sword, ready to run the other man through. 

 

The other drunk recognized what Athos was. "Musketeer!" he sneered, fumbling for his own weapon. 

 

"Enough!" D'Artagnan hissed, as he tried to move past Athos so he could come between them, only to find himself shoved aside.

 

"Get out of my way!" Athos ordered, his tone of command quite clear. He stepped forward to meet his protagonist and easily disarmed him, using a foot to shove the man to the ground. With a smirk of satisfaction, Athos turned away, meaning to stumble his way back to his table and his wine.

 

D'Artagnan was relieved that the encounter ended without bloodshed, only to realize that for the other man, it was not. Even as Athos turned his back, the bigger man lurched to his feet, sword in hand, ready to run Athos through. D'Artagnan was too far away to deflect the blade so he lunged forward, shouting a warning even as he pulled Athos towards him shoving him hard away even as he turned to shield his friend with his own body. 

 

The drunken man's blade sliced across D'Artagnan's side, leaving a trail of white fire. He kept hold of his control and managed to disarm the other man before stumbling into a table, one hand clamped over his side. 

 

The Inn Keeper rushed over, offering assistance even as D'Artagnan locked eyes on Athos. His friend was on the ground, unmoving. 

 

"Athos!" Ignoring his own injury, D'Artagnan fell to his knees, searching for a wound.

 

"He hit his head against the table when you pushed him," one of the serving wenches offered. 

D'Artagnan felt his gut twist into a knot. He never meant to cause Athos harm. With a shaky hand he felt for a lump or a bump and found only a red graze on the other man's temple. As he brushed the area, Athos moaned and D'Artagnan felt relief wash over him.

 

The serving girl touched his arm. "I think he's more drunk than hurt," she offered. "My brothers will bring him to your room and he can sleep it off. I'll tend to your wound if you like."

 

"My wound is nothing," D'Artagnan assured her. "But I accept your help on behalf of my friend." He would have carried Athos on his own, but his injury would have made it more difficult on them both and he could see that the young woman's brothers were big and strong. He watched them easily lift Athos and carry him up the stairs.

 

Soon they were settled in a simple but purposeful room. There were two beds, one across from the other butted up against the walls. Athos was laid gently on the one farther in the corner. D'Artagnan thanked the brothers before perching on the edge of the bed to check his friend over once more. Athos stirred at D'Artagnan's touch but did not open his eyes. That worried D'Artagnan a bit.

 

The serving girl entered with a basin and some cloths. She was a pretty girl with red hair and green eyes and she smiled shyly as she gestured to D'Artagnan's side. "You're bleeding, monsieur. Please to let me tend to your wound."

 

"My thanks," D'Artagnan replied, waving her off. "If you would leave the supplies I'll take care of it on my own."

 

"Are you certain?" She looked disappointed at his words. "It is no bother and I have a gentle touch, or so I'm told."

 

D'Artagnan believed her, but he had no interest in being fussed over. It was Athos who worried him. "I'll be fine, thank you." Reaching into his pouch he withdrew several sous and offered them to her.

 

She shook her head. "No charge for the cloth and water, monsieur. My name is Ella, if you find you have need of me." With that she turned with a flounce of her skirts and left the room, closing the door gently behind her.

 

After checking on Athos again, D'Artagnan felt relieved enough to focus his attention on his injury. It took a bit of slow moving and cussing to divest himself of his gear, jerkin and shirt, and he wasn't happy at what he found. The puncture wound wasn't large, but it was still bleeding sluggishly. He cleaned it and realized it would need a few stitches. So D'artagnan retrieved the pouch he carried on his weapons belt which contained a needle and thread, supplies that Aramis had insisted he carry with him. 

 

To D'Artagnan's surprise, Ella had left a bottle of brandy and he used it to clean the wound and the needle and thread. Before applying the needle to his flesh, D'Artagnan downed several swallows of the Brandy, nearly gagging at the taste. But it helped him to muddle through stitching his own flesh together, biting his lip and struggling to keep his hand steady. 

 

The stitches were far from perfect, but the bleeding slowed and finally stopped, so D'Artagnan considered that a win. He wiped away the last vestiges of blood with a cloth soaked in Brandy, before swallowing a few more gulps of the vile brew. He then managed to bind his wound and redress in his shirt before checking on Athos one last time. His friend was deeply asleep and D'Artagnan finally allowed himself to curl up on the other bed and drift into an aching darkness.

 

* * *

 

Athos dreamed. Dark and unwanted nightmares of his brother. Thomas bloody and still in his arms. Unrelenting dreams that followed him into consciousness when he practically rolled off the bed he was lying on. Athos blinked bleary eyes, one hand pressed to his aching head as he searched for a bucket to heave into.

 

He found one in the corner and emptied his stomach of bile and wine and whatever last meal he had ingested. The ache in his head was like the stab of a knife in his temple by the time he had finished puking. A pitcher sat on the small table in the center of the room and Athos staggered over to it, pouring the cool contents into a cup and rinsing his mouth of the vile taste before swallowing the rest. He was in the process of splashing water on his face when the door opened and D'Artagnan appeared, a tray of food in his hands.

 

"Athos..." D'Artagnan looked surprised to see him up. "How do you feel?"

 

"Better than I probably should," Athos allowed, wincing at the clattering sound when D'Artagnan set the tray on the table. 

 

D'Artagnan studied him a moment before nodding. "It's late, almost midday, so you should eat something while I get the horses ready."

 

Athos made a face at the food, but reached out for a hard biscuit. He knew he needed something in his stomach before making the ride back. Such behavior, such weakness as he had exhibited last night, was beneath him and he was disgusted with himself. As such, he would pull himself together now and suffer his aching head and sick stomach in silence. So he put himself together, buckled on his gear, and went to meet up with D'Artagnan at the stable.

 

The boy was leading out their horses as Athos reached him. He could see the worry on D'Artagnan's face. "I'll be fine to ride if we keep it to a walk for a time," Athos stated, before the boy could ask.

 

"Sounds like a plan," D'Artagnan allowed, a slight smile curving his lips. He handed Athos over the reins to his horse, before moving to mount his own.

 

It took a moment for Athos to make the effort to mount, and his head was not pleased with him, but he pushed through the pain and the nausea and guided Roger in the direction to home. He was pleased that D'Artagnan remained a silent companion for the first few hours, although it was a bit worrisome at the same time. The boy tended to ask Athos questions about his life as a Musketeer whenever they had some time to themselves. So Athos nudged his mount forward so they rode abreast as he studied D'Artagnan. The young Gascon rode a bit hunched over, but he was still alert, eyes roving from side to side, scouting and scanning their surroundings. Always on guard, as Athos had taught him to be. 

 

Pride welled up in Athos, but it was tempered with concern. D'Artagnan looked a bit pale and definitely weary, but he realized that was probably his own fault. "Forgive me for my behavior last night," Athos offered, when it hit him that D'Artagnan must have put him to bed and watched over him last night. He should not have put him in that position.

 

"There's nothing to forgive," D'Artagnan countered promptly, looking surprised at the apology. "And know that I will never judge you, Athos."

 

"Perhaps you should," Athos stated. "My actions were not worthy of a Musketeer."

 

D'Artagnan shook his head. "No matter..." he began, only to sway in the saddle before catching himself. But as he straightened he gasped softly, obviously in pain.

 

Athos was worried. "D'Artagan! Are you all right?" The moment he asked, Athos could have kicked himself, for it was obvious the boy was anything but.

 

"I'm fine," D'Artagnan replied, true to form. "I'm just tired," he continued, as if noticing that Athos did not believe him. "You had nightmares and I tried to soothe you as best I could."

 

"For which I cannot thank you enough," Athos said softly, and with the utmost sincerity. "Tis no excuse for my behavior, but last night was the anniversary of my brother's death and I fear I never handle that well."

 

D'Artagnan looked stunned as he whispered, "I'm sorry."

 

Athos shook his head. "I'm the one who's sorry, D'Artagnan." He fell silent as flashes of memory assaulted him. A man with a sword, his own sword out. A fight...D'Artagnan over him...pain. Athos blinked hard and shifted his hat, fingers searching for the tender spot that had begun to throb.

 

"I'm sorry about your head as well," D'Artagnan stated.

 

"What do you mean?" Athos replied, unable to hide his confusion.

 

D'Artagnan made a face and looked uncomfortable, but after a moment he spoke. "I don't know how much you remember of last night, but you fought a man and when you beat him he tried to kill you as you walked away. I shoved you aside and you stumbled and fell, hitting your head on a nearby table. Apologies."

 

Athos huffed a sigh that was part exasperation, part admiration and part affection. "Never apologize for saving my life, D'Artagnan. My thanks."

 

"Of course," D'Artagnan replied, before falling silent once more.

 

A silence Athos allowed as he fought to retrieve any and all memories of last night's events, but everything was fuzzy and distance. But so lost in thought was he that he didn't notice that D'Artagnan had fallen back behind him. It would be just like the boy to respect his need for what privacy he could give, but that reasoning vanished the moment he heard a whinny and a thud. Whirling his own horse around, Athos felt his blood go cold at the sight of D'Artagnan lying on the ground in a crumpled heap. 

 

"D'Artagnan!" Athos shouted, riding over and swiftly dismounting. He fell to his knees beside the boy, hand pressed to the lean chest, head bent feeling for breath and when it brushed soft against his cheek he felt relief wash over him. D'Artagnan was breathing. Letting his hands rove over the still form, Athos searched for injuries, freezing when his hand drifted over D'Artagnan's side and the boy moaned softly. 

 

It took only a moment to unbuckle D'Artagnan's gear then Athos found himself staring at a blood soaked shirt. He lifted it to reveal an equally blood-soaked bandage. Rising to his feet, Athos ran to his saddle bag and removed clean bandages, grateful that Aramis insisted they all carry them for circumstances just like this one. Back at D'Artagnan's side, Athos pressed one over the blood-soaked one before gently patting the boy's cheek. But the young Gascon did not stir.

 

Panic rose swiftly in Athos and he might have let it overwhelm him if he hadn't been distracted by the sound of someone approaching behind them. Turning, Athos felt as if Aramis' God were smiling upon him today. A grizzled man and a younger lad were seated upon a wagon drawn by two sturdy horses. They drew up beside Athos and stopped before he could even call to them.

 

The man handed the reins over to the lad before stepping down. He looked to be a decade older than Athos and nearly twice his size. Gray hair was pulled back from a ruddy face where pale eyes glowed with kindness. He moved to kneel beside Athos. "You're Musketeers," he stated.

 

"We are," Athos replied, wondering if that somehow mattered.

 

"I'm Renault and the boy is my son, Henri," he said, introducing them. His son looked to be maybe a couple of years younger than D'Artagnan, but already as tall and with a build that would some day rival his father's stature. "What happened to your young friend?" Renault queried.

 

Athos closed his eyes as guilt overwhelmed him. "I wish I knew. He never told me he was injured."

 

Renault nodded. "The young do foolish things," he allowed. "I'm a fair hand at healing. We can take him to my place, we live not far from here. My boy and I live alone so there's plenty of room." There was a sadness in his voice when he spoke of their status.

 

"My thanks," Athos replied, before introducing himself. "And this is D'Artagnan."

 

"A pleasure to meet you both, although I would have preferred a more pleasant circumstance." As he spoke, Renault rose to his feet and strode to the back of his wagon. "Give me a minute to make a comfortable bed for the boy." He worked quickly and efficiently and was soon back beside them. "We can use your cloaks as blankets once I get him laid out. Tie your horses to the back and you can ride with him. It's a rough road so you'll need to brace him."

 

Athos nodded, rising to his feet as Renault slid his arms under D'Artagnan and lifted him as easily as if he were but a child. While the young Musketeer was being settled in the wagon, Athos moved to tie their horses to the back before scrambling over the side and settling in behind D'Artagnan, needing to feel him breathe as much as he needed to offer support.

 

The ride to Renault's place passed in a blur for Athos. He held tight to D'Artagnan, letting one hand rest over the boy's heart to both feel the soft beat and the rise and fall of the lean chest. What he also felt was the heat of a fever, and that worried Athos to no end.

 

"We're here," Renault called over his shoulder, bringing the wagon to a halt. He handed the reins over to his boy, before jumping down and moving to the back where he leaned over the side and easily lifted D'Artagnan into his arms. "Follow me," he said to Athos before shouting to his son, "Henri, take care of the horses then fetch me a few buckets of fresh water.

 

"Yes, Father," Henri replied, waiting for Athos to scramble out of the back of the wagon before clucking his tongue and turning the horses towards the barn.

 

Athos had to practically run to keep up with Renault and he rushed forward as the big man reached the door to his home. He pushed it open then stood back, letting Renault step inside with D'Artagnan. He then followed as they made their way to the back and into a separate room that held a bed in the corner, along with a small table and a chair.

 

Renault gently settled D'Artagnan onto the bed, his big hands working nimbly as they stripped the Gascon of his belt, jacket and shirt. He tsked softly as he studied the wound. "He pulled the stitched and it's become infected. I need to take the stitches out, clean it thoroughly then restitch it. In the main room there's a box on the shelf in the corner, top shelf. Fetch it for me please."

 

"Of course." Athos ran off to do as he was bid. He found the box easily, it was wooden, and arm span long, wrist to elbow wide and equally deep. It was heavy and whatever was inside rattled a bit as Athos quickly made his way back to the room. "What else do you need me to do?" he asked, as he handed the box over.

 

"I work best in peace," Renault replied. "Why don't you check on Henri and the horses. Let my boy know to start supper when he comes in." He spoke in a tone that brooked no argument.

 

So Athos offered none. Strangely enough he trusted Renault to take good care of D'Artagnan. So with a nod he did as he was bid and left the cottage to seek out Henri. The boy met him in the doorway of the barn. 

 

Scuffing his feet and looking a bit nervous, Henri asked, "How is your friend?"

 

"I don't know," Athos confessed, and it was like a fist in his gut to realize that he had been so blind to D'Artagnan's condition all along.

 

"My Father will help him," Henri stated simply and with great confidence. "He has a gift."

 

Athos found himself taking the comfort that was being offered, grasping it with both hands in fact. "Thank you," he whispered. "Your father wanted me to mention you were to start supper when you finished with the horses."

 

A smile curved across the broad face. "I'm making stew," Henri announced, stepping past Athos to head for the house. "Mutton stew. Father says I'm a very good cook. That's my gift." The last words were tossed over his shoulder, for Henri had nearly reached the cottage.

 

"I look forward to it," Athos replied, even though he did not feel the least bit hungry. His stomach had twisted into knots of guilt and worry and he felt ill. But he followed in Henri's footsteps, reaching the cottage but not going inside. Instead he paced outside the doorway until Renault appeared. "How is D'Artagnan?" Athos demanded, eyes locked on the other man's face. 

 

"His fever is rising," Renault admitted as he sat down on the bench to the left of the door. "I've cleaned out the infection and restitched the wound and I made a poultice that should help draw out any other poisons and I've managed to get a bit of bitter root tea into him. That helps with fevers. If he's not better come morning I'll go in search of a special root I know of. But he's young and strong, he'll fight." 

 

"He is a fighter," Athos allowed, letting a slight smile curve his lips. "Thank you for all you've done, I will be happy to pay you for your time and effort."

 

Renault shook his head. "I have no need of payment, I am happy to be able to share my home and my skills. The pleasure of your company is payment enough."

 

Athos was surprised and touched, but at the same time he wanted to give the man something. He believed he knew a way that would not offend. "Do you think Henri would be willing to ride to Paris come morning. I would like to send a message to my friends. They will be worried about us when we don't arrive back."

 

"Of course," Renault replied, without hesitation. "Write your message and Henri will leave at dawn."

 

"My thanks," Athos offered, with a slight bow. "If you don't mind, I would like to sit with D'Artagnan now."

 

Renault waved him off. "I've place a basin of water and some cloths on the table. Use them to ease his fever and call me if you have need of me. I'll bring dinner when it's done and between us I'd like to see if we can wake the boy and get some broth into him. The herbs in it will help him and he needs to drink what he can to battle the fever."

 

Athos nodded then took his leave. He entered the room and stood for a minute, simply staring at D'Artagnan lying so still on the bed. Just a few hours ago the boy had been riding beside him and now this. Athos felt guilt stab into his heart and he fought the urge to turn on his heel and run. But he could not run from D'Artagnan. He had abandoned the boy in the tavern, abandoned him by drinking himself into a stupor and leaving the Gascon to keep watch over him when he was the one who should be watching over the boy. 

 

Step by weary step, Athos moved to the chair by the bed and sat down heavily. He stared at D'Artagnan's pale face, cheeks flushed with fever. He let his eyes roam over the still body, so slim and fragile looking beneath the layers of blankets. D'Artagnan was never still, he was a body ever in motion, a young man filled with the vigor of life. It hurt to see him lying there so still. Hurt and fear clutched at Athos and he blinked back sudden tears as he reached out to brush wisps of dark hair off the pale forehead. The burn of fever shocked him, making him turn in search of the basin. Renault had moved the table over so it was in easy reach and Athos wet a cloth, wrung it out, then smoothed it over D'Artagnan's face and chest. He repeated the action over and over, willing the fever to abate.

 

"You must eat," Renault said from the doorway, startling Athos from his ministrations.

 

"I'm not hungry," he replied, turning to rinse out the cloth yet again. The heat of D'Artagnan's skin warmed the rag in mere seconds. He nodded to the table. "I wrote my note and there's a coin for Henri's trouble. Tell him to go to the Garrison and ask for Aramis."

 

Renault entered the room and set a bowl of stew on the table. He then snagged the cloth from Athos' hand before gripping him by the elbow and hauling him out of the chair. "I will give Henri the message," he promised. "But for now you will eat, take a bit of a night air, then rest for a time. I will keep watch over the boy."

 

Athos opened his mouth to argue, but realized he had no authority here, certainly none that Renault would recognize. He knew he needed to eat for he hadn't put anything into his stomach in over a day, other than a few bites of biscuit. He would also partake of the fresh air for a bit, but he knew he would not be able to sleep.

 

"I brought some wine," Renault announced, nodding at the goblet on the table. "Nothing fancy I'm afraid."

 

"I'm sure it is quite good," Athos replied, reaching for it and taking a long swallow. To his surprise it was rich with just a touch of sweetness and he downed it in three gulps.

 

Renault watched him, looking amused. "Don't forget the stew. My boy is quite the gifted cook."

 

Athos remembered Henri's delight from earlier, so he ate the stew and found it to be quite delicious and said as much. "Your son is, indeed, gifted."

 

"He is," Renault confirmed, but his eyes were locked on D'Artagnan. "This one is young for a Musketeer, is he not?"

 

"He is, but he too is gifted," Athos replied. "I have no doubt that, someday, he will be the greatest of us all."

 

Renault moved to the bed, checking on the wound and on D'Artagnan's fever. He sighed as he turned and reached for the basin. "I'll get some fresh water and bring in some bedding for you. I assume you'll want to stay with him?"

 

Athos nodded as he placed the empty bowl on the table. He had to admit, at least to himself, that he felt a bit better with some food in his belly. However, it left him feeling sleepy and he fought back a yawn.

 

"Come take that fresh air for a bit," Renault prompted, guiding Athos out of the room.

 

"I don't want to leave D'Artagnan alone," Athos protested, stumbling over his feet a bit.

 

Renault pushed him firmly out the door and into the night. "I'll send Henri for the water and bedding while I sit with him until you return," he promised.

 

Which reassured Athos enough that he let himself drift into the night, inhaling the cool air and letting it clear his head. He paced for a bit, stretching the kinks out of his back from the hours he sat in the chair tending to D'Artagnan and he felt a bit better for it. The night air, however, did not alleviate his weariness and he fought back yet another yawn. He could not let the weariness win, for D'Artagnan needed him, but in the end Athos found himself falling into darkness.

 

He came back to awareness in stages, the sound of voices pulling at him until he blinked hard and opened his eyes, wincing as he adjusted to the brightness. With consciousness came the memory of where he was and why. "D'Artagnan!" Athos hissed, rising to his feet and kicking aside the blankets that had been draped over him. 

 

Renault caught him when he stumbled and would have fallen, righting him before pushing him down into the chair by the bed. He shoved a goblet in his hand and bade him to drink.

 

Athos took a swallow and winced, it was water not wine, but he found himself downing the contents and it helped ease the dryness in his throat and to clear the fog from his head. He pinned Renault with a glare. "You drugged me!"

 

"I gave you something to help you sleep," the other man allowed. "You needed to rest."

 

"I needed to help D'Artagnan!" Athos snarled, his attention shifting to the Gascon who was still pale and limp on the bed. Reaching out, Athos pressed the back of his hand to D'Artagnan's forehead and hissed at the heat there. "He's still burning up."

 

Renault nodded. "He is and I'll be leaving soon to find that root I told you about. Which is the reason I wanted you to rest. Henri has ridden off to deliver your message and you will be left to take care of D'Artagnan until I return. I must go far to get the root, but it will be worth the journey. I will not be back until nightfall. Try to get some broth into him if you can and a few swallows of tea."

 

Athos felt fear wash over him, for he feared D'Artagnan would not last until Renault's return. But he did not give in to his fear, instead he nodded. "I'll take care of him."

 

"Take care of yourself as well," Renault reminded him. "Eat to keep your own strength up or you'll be no good to anyone."

 

"I shall." Athos proved his word by accepting the bread and cheese that the other man held out to him. He took a bite and forced himself to chew and swallow, but it tasted like ash. His only concern was for D'Artagnan, and it terrified him how pale and still the boy was. How fragile he looked.

 

Renault clapped a hand onto Athos' shoulder, squeezing hard in comfort. "The boy is strong, he will not let go of this life. Believe in him."

 

Athos closed his eyes against the sting of tears. "I do," he whispered. "I believe in D'Artagnan more than even he knows." It was an easy confession to make, perhaps because he knew that Renault understood what the boy meant to him. To his surprise, Athos felt an almost kinship with the other man. Without regret he trusted him.

 

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Renault promised, and then he was gone.

 

Still munching on the bread and cheese, Athos took a moment to pour some water to wash it down with, then he took care of his needs before returning to D'Artagnan's side. He studied the pale face flushed with the heat of fever. He ran a hand down the slender arm, feeling fragility where once there was only strength. How could this have happened? It made no sense. The injury aside, the fact that D'Artagnan had ignored his own well being to watch over Athos, the boy was stronger than this. How had he fallen so deeply ill so quickly. 

 

With shaking hands, Athos carefully drew back the bandages to studied the wound. It was seeping with pus a bit, even though Athos knew Renault had cleaned it and continued to do so. There was something terribly wrong here and Athos wished he could do something to fix it. But all he could do was work to keep D'Artagnan's fever down. To that end he grabbed a cloth, dipped it in the cool water in the basin and wiped D'Artagnan down, over and over again, stopping only to dump the warm water and replace it with cool. 

 

Twice D'Artagnan stirred a bit, mumbling, body trembling and Athos managed to get a few dribbles of the tea into him, but he knew it was not enough. He took a short break to relieve himself late in the day and to grab a chunk of bread, as he studied the skyline. It would be dark soon enough and Athos prayed Renault would return with his magic root, for he knew D'Artagnan was doing worse and he had no means of his own to help the boy.

 

As if conjured up by his thoughts, Renault appeared before Athos, a small sack in hand. 

 

"I need to mix the root into a paste and I found something that should work better on his fever," Renault announced, as he shouldered his way past Athos and into the house. "How is D'Artagnan doing?" he called over his shoulder, as he dumped the sack on the table and went about grabbing a bowl and other things he would need.

 

"I fear he will not last the night," Athos whispered, a confession that seared at his heart and soul.

 

Renault turned to glare at him. "He will survive, Athos. He will fight and you must do the same. It will not be an easy night for any of us, but we will make it through to the dawn of a new day. We make this journey together."

 

Athos merely nodded before returning to his place beside D'Artagnan. He lost track of time as he continued his attempts to cool D'Artagnan down. He didn't stop until Renault entered the room and nudged him out of the chair. Athos stood back and watched as Renault removed the bandage laying bare the inflamed wound. 

 

"This will not be pleasant, you must come and hold him down," Renault said, gesturing for Athos to grip D'Artagnan's shoulders. "I must scrub at the wound before applying the paste and it will hurt and burn him but it must be done. Then we must get some tea in him. It will be bitter and he won't like it, but we must get it in him. Do you understand?"

 

"Yes," Athos replied, although he wasn't all that certain.

 

Renault could sense it. "You must work with me, Athos. What I do will help D'Artagnan, even though it may seem otherwise. Can you do this?"

 

Athos locked eyes with Renault. "You promise me this will save him?"

 

"I promise that it can, and if D'Artagnan fights hard he will live." A smile curved the older man's lips. "I believe in him."

 

"As do I," Athos replied, and with renewed fortitude he found himself gripping the boy's shoulders and holding firm. "Do what you must do."

 

It was as unpleasant as Renault had said it would be. D'Artagnan struggled against them, even in his weakened state, whimpering then crying out and it was even worse when they had to force the tea into him, the boy pleading with them to stop, choking on the liquid and nearly gagging, but Renault was relentless and he would not let up until the mug was empty.

 

When it was done they eased D'Artagnan back against the pillows, and Athos soothed him as best he could. "How long will it take to help?"

 

"A day at least before we see a change," Renault replied. "My biggest concern right now is his fever. We must get him cooled down. I have a tub in the barn. I'll bring it to the house and fill it and we need to soak him in it." 

 

"Whatever it takes," Athos allowed, knowing how unpleasant it would be for the boy, for he'd suffered through it himself once when he was a bit younger than D'Artagnan. While Renault prepared the tub, Athos continued wiping him down as best he could.

 

Renault was quick in his duties and soon he was carrying D'Artagnan outside and setting him into the cool water. The boy thrashed and moaned as the cold seeped into him, for it was painful to experience when one was burning hot. But they held him in place and Athos fought back tears as he used a bowl to dump the cold water over D'Artagnan's head and body time and again.

 

Athos arms felt numb and his heart ached as he watched D'Artagnan struggle weakly against them, until he suddenly went limp in Renault's arms and Athos heart stuttered in his chest. "D'Artagnan!" he cried, reaching for him only to have Renault shove him back.

 

"He's breathing, just unconscious," the older man stated. "He's cooler so we can bring him back in. Grab the blanket and wrap it around him when I lift him."

 

"Of course." Athos did as he was bid, fear gripping him as he watched how D'Artagnan now shivered in Renault's arms as the man carried him back inside. Once D'Artagnan was laid out on the bed, Athos resumed his seat in the chair. "What now?" he asked, as he watched Renault cover him with another blanket before grabbing a cloth to dry D'Artagnan's hair.

 

Renault sighed. "We'll give him some more tea in a few hours and keep an eye on his fever. The paste and the tea are potent and will fight hard against the poisons in his body."

 

Athos froze at those words. "Poisons?"

 

"Yes, poisons," Renault repeated.

 

"As in infection or something else?" Athos prompted, rising to his feet to face the other man. 

 

Renault held his gaze. "Whatever pierced him was coated in poison," he stated. "I wasn't sure at first, but the color of the pus and D'Artagnan's condition deteriorating so quickly made me suspicious. Someone tried hard to kill him."

 

Athos shook his head. "No...they tried to kill me and D'Artagnan got in the way. He protected me when I could not protect myself and it may kill him in the end. My fault!" He would have said more but a hand connecting to his cheek brought him to an abrupt halt.

 

"Save your guilt and pity for another time!" Renault snapped. "And I thought you had more faith in the boy than that. He's not dead, but he's fighting a difficult battle and he needs you!"

 

"And I will be there for him as I was not before," Athos replied, feeling shame wash over him. Renault was right. This was not about him, not now. But when D'Artagnan was better, Athos would learn the truth of what happened and he would hunt down the man who hurt the boy and he would end him.

 

It was a battle. They continued to fight the fever, putting D'Artagnan back in the tub twice more and forcing more tea into him. It gave Athos hope when he struggled weakly against them, until D'Artagnan would fall limp and despair would grip Athos once more. 

 

Night drifted into dawn then drifted back into night again as they worked side by side to keep D'Artagnan alive. But Athos feared the worst. D'Artagnan was so pale and so thin, he looked so fragile as if a simple touch would break him. 

 

"Get some sleep, Athos," Renault ordered. He had slept a few hours and upon waking had forced food into Athos along with some wine. "You are dead on your feet. I will watch over D'Artagnan and wake you if there's any change either way." As he spoke, Renault guided Athos to the pallet in the corner. 

 

"Do you think prayers will help?" Athos asked, as his legs buckled and he fell onto the blankets. He was so weary and so afraid.

 

Renault covered him with a blanket. "Prayers always help, my friend. Rest well." 

Athos fought to stay awake, but his eyes closed and darkness pulled him in to its warm embrace. He suffered dreams, more like memories, of times spent with D'Artagnan. They gave him hope even in slumber. He didn't know how long he drifted in the darkness until the sound of a familiar voice dragged him back to consciousness. Athos blinked hard, eyes coming to focus on Aramis who sat on D'Artagnan's bed hugging the young man to his chest, rocking him and crying. Fear paralyzed Athos for a moment, but then he was on his feet and moving forward. "D'Artagnan! NO! NO!" he screamed.

 

Strong arms wrapped around Athos, pulling him into a broad chest. Porthos voice rumbled, "It's all right, Athos. D'Artagnan is alive! He's alive!"

 

"What?" Athos pushed out of Porthos' arms and stumbled to the bed where Aramis was now leaning back to reveal D'Artagnan, eyes open and smiling at him. A wan smile in a pale face, but a smile none the less. "You...you're alive," Athos whispered, moving to him and touching the sweet face with his fingertips. Warm skin, not blazing hot to touch. Then Aramis shifted, letting Athos take his place. Then D'Artagnan was in Athos' arms, solid and warm and alive and Athos felt as if he were able to breathe again. 

 

There was much hugging and Athos could not hold back the tears that slid down his face. He held onto D'Artagnan until Renault stepped in and separated them. He shoved Athos off to take care of his needs then join them in the other room, stating that Henri would watch over D'Artagnan for the time.

 

Athos did was he was bid, accepted a cup of water and some bread and stared at his friends. "When did you get here?"

 

"Just a bit ago," Aramis replied. Renault filled us in on what happened and I was checking on D'Artagnan when I realized his fever had broke and his wound was clean and clear. He woke up asking for you and that's when you woke up."

 

"You saved him," Athos said, turning to Renault. "I cannot thank you enough." 

 

Renault shrugged. "You helped and D'Artagnan fought hard to live. Why don't the lot of you go for a walk and talk, I'll get D'Artagnan cleaned up and when you return you may sit with him."

 

Knowing it would be useless to argue, Athos led his friends outside, surprised to see the sun shining and reveling in it's warmth on his skin. Today was a good day. 

 

"What happened?" Porthos asked, as they strolled towards the barn.

 

"I wish I knew," Athos replied. "All I know for sure is that D'Artagnan was slashed with a poisoned blade and I will find who did it and kill them!"

 

Porthos clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm with you, my friend, but that can wait. I still don't understand what happened and how D'Artagnan came to be stabbed."

 

Athos rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "I don't know what happened, only D'Artagnan can tell us. I was in my cups and passed out. For a time I thought I would not get the chance to learn the truth." He shuddered at the memory, of the fear that had nearly choked him at times.

 

"D'Artagnan has a slow recovery ahead of him," Aramis stated, matter of factly. "But he's young and strong and we'll help him through it. Your new friend, Renault, he's quite the healer. He's promised to show me the root he used and how he made the paste and the tea. I'll no doubt have use for them in the future."

 

"Hope not," Porthos countered, but he was grinning. They were all so happy that D'Artagnan was alive and would be well again.

 

Turning back to the house, Athos called over his shoulder, "I think it's time to learn the truth." He said nothing more and his friends fell into step beside him as they made their way back into D'Artagnan's room.

 

The boy looked so much better, despite being pale and thin. He was sitting up, propped against a pile of pillows, and sipping at a mug of broth. He smiled at them as they entered the room, his focus on Athos as the older Musketeer sat down beside him.

 

"How do you feel?" Athos asked, taking the mug as D'Artagnan held it out to him.

 

"Tired, weak," D'Artagnan confessed. "But I'll be back on my feet in no time."

 

Aramis moved to pat him on the shoulder. "That you will, my friend. That you will. But you must do as you're told and rest and eat."

 

Porthos snorted then said, "Eat a lot. You're nothing but skin and bones right now and I don't want to risk snapping you like a twig when we spar."

 

"Never happen," D'Artagnan countered, attempting a glare, but it fell short when he ended up stifling a yawn.

 

"You need to sleep," Aramis stated.

 

D'Artagnan nodded, his eyes drifting closed and in the space of a heartbeat he was asleep.

 

Which frustrated Athos to no end, even as he realized the boy needed the rest. So he would bide his time and when next D'Artagnan awoke, they would talk. He remained in the chair, reaching out to take a slender hand in his grip. Athos heard his friends leave and he was glad. He wanted to keep vigil over D'Artagnan. To count each breath if need be. But in the end he simply sat and watched the boy sleep, finding himself offering a prayer of gratitude to whatever God might be listening.

 

It was nightfall when D'Artagnan woke again for longer than a few minutes at a time, when Athos would take the opportunity to get the boy to swallow a bit of broth or some tea or water. This time D'Artagnan woke with needs to take care and Athos was happy to help, but worried at the same time for the boy felt so small and light in his arms. But then D'Artagnan was settled back in bed, propped up on pillows again and actually requesting something to eat. 

 

Broth was brought and he finished half a mug before giving up, but D'Artagnan was content to spend time with his friends.

 

It was Porthos who brought up the subject of what had happened to him and Athos. 

 

"I need to know," Athos prompted, when D'Artagnan hesitated. "Please...tell me."

 

"I already told you about the fight," D'Artagnan mumbled.

 

Athos sighed, fighting to keep his patience. His desire to learn the truth warring with his desire to scold D'Artagnan for keeping secrets. For hiding his injury. "You told me I fought a man and he tried to kill me. You didn't tell me you were injured in the process. I'm guessing that no one has told you that the blade he used was coated in poison, which is why you became so ill you nearly died!" Athos couldn't contain his anger, letting it boil to the surface. He wasn't angry with D'Artagnan though, and the boy knew it.

 

Reaching out, D'Artagnan caught Athos by the hand, squeezing gently, brown eyes locking with blue as he said softly, "I did not mean to worry you. You drank deeply and it was my fault that you got hurt, I shoved you too hard. I did not know the blade was poisoned and I stitched the wound myself. I did what Aramis taught me to do and I thought it would be fine. My concern was for you, Athos. You were so troubled and I did not know how to help you, so I did what I could. I watched out for you when you were unable to do so."

 

"I cannot thank you enough for doing so," Athos replied, gripping D'Artagnan's hand in both his own and holding on tight. "You bear no blame but I do. I drank far more than I should. I did not act as a Musketeer should. I drank to drown my sorrow and I promise you it will never happen again. We watch each other's backs and I failed in my duty."

 

"I understand your sorrow and I know that you will always be there for me. You proved that by taking care of me now," D'Artagnan countered, for it was typical of the boy to be more concerned for the welfare of others rather than his own. 

 

Athos stared at D'Artagnan, shaking his head. "Your heart is filled with forgiveness I am not sure I deserve."

 

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes. "None of us are perfect, Athos. We are all flawed and we all make mistakes. You were grieving for your brother and what happened was unfortunate, but I have no regrets. I would do it all again."

 

"I'd prefer we did not repeat this particular set of events in any way," Athos drawled, but he felt a smile curve his lips. "Rest, D'Artagnan, I will stay with you."

 

"You don't have to watch over me, Athos," D'Artagnan protested, although he looked pleased enough.

 

Athos reached out to brush a lock of dark hair from the Gascon's eyes. "But I do," he whispered. "Now sleep. We need you strong and well again."

 

D'Artagnan looked ready to argue, but his eyes were already drifting closed. Athos stood to shift the boy into a more confortable position, drawing the blanket over the thin shoulders and tucking him in. He found Aramis standing beside him when he was done.

 

"Mother hen," Aramis said fondly, patting Athos on the shoulder. "You should get some rest yourself. He'll be asleep for hours."

 

"I will," Athos promised. And he would, later. For now he was content to keep watch over their youngest. He wasn't the least bit surprised when Aramis and Porthos took up residence as well, and it felt to Athos like he could finally breathe again.

 

* * *

 

D'Artagnan continued to improve in leaps and bounds. He was up on his feet a day later, even though he was shaky at best. He was able to eat solid food again the day after that and by day four he was anxious to be back on the road and heading for home.

 

"You won't be ready to travel for at least another week, boy," Renault insisted. D'Artagnan listened to him over the others, when it came to things related to his health. It wasn't because he didn't believe the others, it was more because a part of him was rather intimidated by Renault and the man used that to his advantage in dealing with D'Artagnan.

 

"We could travel slowly," D'Artagnan countered, pouting a bit.

 

Renault pointed to the plate of food in front of D'Artagnan. "Eat up then you can take a short walk with your friends. A very short walk."

 

D'Artagnan scowled, but did as he was bid. He walked with his friends and it was a short walk which turned into Porthos carrying D'Artagnan back into his room and putting him to bed. A lesson learned for the young Musketeer.

 

Athos took his usual place in the chair by the bed, worry lines creasing his forehead. "He's pushing too hard. He'll make himself worse."

 

"He's young and impatient," Aramis countered, from where he sat on the floor in the corner, polishing his dagger. "You watch him like a hawk, we all do. He'll rest and eat and heal and all will be well."

 

"He is getting better," Athos muttered, speaking more to himself. He needed the reassurance and it lay before him. D'Artagnan was much better than he had been. Like night and day. His skin tone was back to normal and even though he hadn't really put much weight back on, his eyes were bright again and his smile was back and it made Athos' heart feel light.

 

After a time Athos let himself doze off and as the next week passed, he felt the weight that had bowed his shoulders ease. Especially on the morning of the day they saddled up to ride out. They expected it to be a slow journey, taking three days instead of one, but they were all looking forward to returning.

 

Athos watched Porthos tease D'Artagnan by ruffling his hair, and he smiled as the boy gave chase to the big man. D'Artagnan's laughter filled the air and it eased away the last of Athos worry and concern. He still felt guilty that D'Artagnan had fallen ill because he'd felt the need to protect him, but the boy was growing stronger each day and they were going home. 

 

Turning back to the house, Athos strode over to Renault. He pulled a pouch of coins off his belt and held it out. "I know you don't want money, but it would please me if you would accept this small token of my gratitude. You save D'Artagnan and I cannot repay that debt, but this will ease my mind."

 

"Pretty speech," Renault countered, chuckling. He took the pouch and nodded. "My thanks. Take care of yourself and the boy. It is easy to see how much D'Artagnan means to you."

 

"To all of us," Athos replied. "As I told you, someday he will be the greatest of us all."

 

Renault smiled. "I believe he will, and he has a good man to guide him along the way." He held Athos' gaze as he spoke, daring the Musketeer to argue.

 

But Athos simply bowed his head in acceptance. "If ever you need assistance in any way, send for any one of us and we will be happy to help."

 

"I will," Renault said, reaching out to shake Athos' hand. "Safe journey."

 

"Thank you." Athos turned smartly on his heel and strode over to his friends. The others had already offered Renault and Henri their goodbyes, with D'Artagnan promising to return to teach Henri how to use a sword and accepting gruff hug Renault gave him, along with promising to be good and to listen to his friends. Athos had laughed at D'Artagnan's expression at that, for the boy could out stubborn them all.

 

The others were mounted as Athos reached them and he swung up into his own saddle and led the way onto the road home.

 

Happily they reached the Garrison without incident, spending the night at a tavern and making it back sooner than expected since D'Artagnan had insisted he was strong enough. By the time they had dismounted, D'Artagnan was swaying a bit and Athos was ready to carry him to his room and tuck him into bed.

 

"I'm fine, Athos," D'Artagnan insisted. "I want to eat first and take a bath." They were all dusty and hungry and Porthos and Aramis echoed D'Artagnan's desires.

 

"Then we'll go to my rooms and you can take a bath there," Athos countered. "Porthos and Aramis can get cleaned up then bring food and we'll eat together. Will that please you?"

 

D'Artagnan grinned and nodded. "Bring mutton stew?" he requested of Porthos and Aramis. It was his favorite.

 

Porthos clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll bring two servings for you," he promised. It pleased them all to see the boy getting his appetite back, for he was still far too thin. But they would all work to remedy that fact.

 

"Let's go," Athos said, taking D'Artagnan by the arm and leading him off. It was a pleasant walk to his rooms but he could see that the boy was done in by the time they got there. But D'Artagnan was stubborn and refused to rest until he was clean. So Athos sent a boy to bring water to fill the tub and they both made use of it. By which time Aramis and Porthos returned and they sat about the table and ate their fill, laughing at Porthos bad puns and rolling their eyes at Aramis' tall tales of heroism from before he became a Musketeer. 

 

It was time well spent but it was obvious that D'Artagnan was in need of rest so Aramis and Porthos bid them goodnight, for Athos had already informed D'Artagnan that he would be spending the night here. When he closed the door behind his friends and turned back, it was to find the boy deep in thought. "What troubles you?" he prompted.

 

D'Artagnan shook his head, stifling a yawn before he spoke. "I'm not troubled, Athos. I was just thinking how lucky I am." He smiled at his mentor. "God has gifted me with a good life and good friends."

 

"He has gifted me as well," Athos replied, moving to kneel before D'Artagnan. "With you." And he meant it. Thomas had been his life for so long and when he died a part of Athos had died with him. But God had seen fit to bring D'Artagnan into his life to fill that emptiness. His foolishness had almost cost him the boy, but never again.

 

"Athos?" D'Artagnan looked concerned as he reached out and brushed a fingertip over Athos's cheek.

 

It startled Athos to realize he was crying. "I'm fine," he said softly. "Just overwhelmed with gratitude. I almost lost you, D'Artagnan. I will not make that mistake again."

 

D'Artagnan stared at Athos, looking uncertain for a moment, but then he leaned down and wrapped his arms around his mentor. It was an awkward hug at best.

 

But it meant the world to Athos and he lifted his arms to embrace the boy, shifting up to rest his chin on the broad but thin shoulder and taking comfort in the feel of D'Artagnan's heart beating strong against his own chest. He was happy to simply hold the boy, until he realized D'Artagnan was becoming a dead weight. Panic gripped Athos and he eased the boy back as he rose to his feet, only to realize that D'Artagnan was dead asleep.

 

Laughter bubbled out of Athos in a short bark and he bit his lip when D'Artagnan stirred. It was the opening he needed to drag the Gascon to his feet and guide him over to the bed. He grinned when D'Artagnan rolled onto his side and curled up around Athos's extra pillow. Shaking his head, Athos pulled off D'Artagnan's boots and pulled a blanket over him. 

 

He settled back in at the table, pouring himself a goblet of wine and indulging himself just a bit as he watched the boy sleep. He would not drink himself into oblivion tonight, nor any night in the near future. He had been given a gift. 

 

Athos raised the goblet in a silent toast.

 

Life was good.

 

THE END


End file.
